The Nargles Made Me Do It
by Stalker of Stories
Summary: This is my Harry Potter challenge dump. All challenges probably are from the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum. Includes randomness, songfics, angst, etc. See profile for summaries.
1. Random Characters Challenge: Luna Pansy

**This is the home of all HP challenges that I take from HPFC (which is amazing, just so you know) excepting serial challenges.**

Warning: not my usual fair... alcohol abuse, randomness, and spoilers!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and affiliates of which I am not one. Written for Megsy42's Random Character Challenge on HPFC

Features: Random!Luna, Pissy!Pansy

Is That a Nargle or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

The Hog's Head is a very well known pub in a very well known hamlet known as Hogsmeade near a very well known school known as Hogwarts. It is a haven to many of the Wizarding World's darker beings who are in the area and want to sit down with a bottle of firewhiskey and drown their sorrows like any other sentient being without being gawked at by passerby in the Leaky Cauldron in London or at the Three Broomsticks just down the road. Really, they got far too much of that even in Knockturn Alley. They didn't need more of the same!

When one thinks of the Hog's Head, they tend to think of hags getting wasted or people on secretive business being secretive.

They do not, however, think of one Luna Lovegood, editor of the Quibbler, friend to Harry Potter, warrior of the Final Battle, and all around crazy person dancing on a table performing high kicks and generally drawing attention to herself. Not that Luna didn't _always_ draw attention to herself, but she had even ordered a drink yet!

"Get off the bloody table before I hex you off!" Of course, Luna couldn't be dancing on an unoccupied table, no Sirry Bob! She picked the table of the person in the pub who had the hardest scowl, the biggest chip on their shoulder, the whole she-bang. The fact that they had gone to school together – Luna being a year younger than the other person – only made it all the more Luna-esque because, really, coincidences were created by the Humdingers, and there was no point in denying them now was there?

Luna had entered the pub, promptly hopped upon a seemingly random table, and started doing a strange mix between the can-can, the electric slide, the cabbage patch, and the bus driver that was driving the occupant of the table positively batty. Pansy Parkinson did not _like_ muggle things or batty blondes. Bratty blondes were fine, her best friend – Daphne Greengrass – was one, as was the object of her affections – Draco Malfoy – but the difference between being a batty blonde and a bratty blonde was far greater than the difference in their spelling.

With one final high kick and a jerk of her arm to signal that the bus was full, Luna finally stopped standing on table and was instead sitting on it, criss-cross (which was odd, because she was wearing a skirt, but at least it was a long skirt). Wide blue eyes stared into Pansy's glaring brown for almost a full minute before Luna finally blinked.

"Did you know that there was a nargle in your hair? You're lucky I knew how to do that dance, you know," Luna stated with an airy tone of something indescribable because, really, when was something Luna did considered within the realms of human comprehension. "It was nesting, but it's gone now."

"Fantastic," Pansy drawled before slamming back the shot of firewhiskey in her glass and letting a stream of smoke blow straight into the ex-Ravenclaw's face. "Go away now."

Instead, Luna leaned closer and started to inspect Pansy's face. Well, Pansy wasn't exactly at her best – Draco was getting married to her best friend's bitch of a sister _tomorrow_ after all – but she didn't deserve the scrutiny. Nor was she going to back down.

"No," was all Luna said in that wistful voice of hers as she continued to stare down the slightly-older girl.

When Luna returned home for the evening, her husband Rolf was rather shocked. Her top was ripped, her skirt missing at least half, and a trickle of blood was running down her face from her hairline. Really, he'd trained himself to not notice when Luna did something odd – he wasn't exactly normal either, but Luna was further around the bend than he – and then this sort of thing happens!

When he asked what had happened she simply pulled something from her hair – an invisible something – and asked in an ever-so-sweet voice, "Is that a nargle in your hair or are you just happy to see me?"

Meanwhile, Pansy Parkinson was sitting in an alleyway learning _precisely_ why nargles were a bad thing.

**Author's Note: Um... wow? Not quite sure how that happened. Basically, Pansy got pissed off (not good since she was already piss drunk) and attacked Luna who then returned home. I don't have any idea how this happened **_**at all**_**. Really.**


	2. Birds and the Bees Challenge: Dursleys

Warnings: sexual references, slightly cracktastic, disturbing. No _real_ spoilers though :)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and her affiliates of which I am not one. Written for writingxonxwalls' the Birds and the Bees Challenge on HPFC.

Features: Petunia and Dudley, both being themselves... but slightly more cracktastic.

What Really Takes the Cake...

Petunia Dursley, nee Evans, was _not_ prepared to do this sort of thing at all. She was a house wife, and as such all of her duties and knowledge were applied to the household, family, etc. As such, it should have been that she was the ideal person to discuss... _that_ with her son. She was a mother; her job was to teach, to nurture, and to make sure her son grew up properly.

Somehow, she'd missed the day in her parenting class when the teacher informed the students how to tell their child about the birds and the bees, which was strange considering she attended each class dutifully. She was a housewife, and she ought to be able to do this.

Seeing Dudley in front of her, all 327.8 pounds of him (he was a growing boy, after all!), made the task far more daunting that she felt it out to be. It was three weeks after her Dinky Diddydums' thirteenth birthday. The _boy_ was out of the house doing God (1) only knew what, something unnatural no doubt, and Petunia was sitting in a chintz arm chair with Dudley on the couch, smacking his lips as he ate a large chocolate cake that she had baked specially; chocolate with mint frosting and stylized birds and bees.

He hadn't even looked at the cake when it was put in front of him. Instead, Dudley dug in, eyes glued to the old telly. She'd had to use the cake to lure him out of the kitchen and his new telly in the first place, but it had worked and that was what mattered.

Now, however, with her tea set primly in her lap, Petunia was at a loss. She knew social niceties – though they were only really obeyed in public – and etiquette, she could cook a roast to perfection, polish a doorknob until it shined, and order the _boy_ to do the same with ease... but with the idea of telling her Ickle Duddykins about where babies come from... it was daunting and she felt woefully unprepared.

"Dudley," she spoke up finally, hoping that bluster could get her far enough in the conversation that she could do what was necessary. It worked for Vernon (though by the time he was done blustering he was being drowned out), so why not her? "Dudley, we have something very important to talk about. Sweetums, look at me when I'm talking to you..." He didn't give any indication that he had even heard her, and Petunia panicked.

She did the only thing that she could think of, the only thing that was truly forbidden her, and turned off the telly.

Dudley's focus was on her immediately, and he wasn't happy.

"I was watching that!" The cake was forgotten, as was the remote that hung limp in his hand. Petunia wondered if he was just being polite by ignoring that he had the power to turn the telly back on. Obviously, that had to be the case. He knew he had the remote; Dudley simply wanted to show that he had self-restraint like any other mature boy of thirteen.

A mature boy of thirteen who Petunia had to explain the facts of life to. Surely he was too young for it? But somehow, like any good mother, she knew the time had come. Even Vernon had mentioned that their son would be out in the world, sewing his seed, and so she knew.

"Sweetums... Dudley," cutesy nicknames didn't really belong in a conversation about... _that_. "There comes a time in every young gentleman's life when he..." what could she say? She didn't actually know anything about the man's side of _that_. "When he becomes interested in young ladies, just as there is a time in every young lady's life when she becomes interested in young gentlemen." There, that wasn't so hard, was it? "And when a young gentleman and a young lady like each other they will... _court_ one another and eventually marry. And during the honeymoon they will... they will have intercourse and –"

"Inter-what?" Dudley looked completely lost, and Petunia wilted. This was obviously not a regular housewife duty, or else she would do it flawlessly, wouldn't she?

"Intercourse," she managed to squeeze out, "is an act between a man and a woman..." Good Lord, what was she saying?! She quickly pulled a slice of cake toward herself and took a bite so that she could take a moment to think. Normally she wouldn't because the sugar would ruin her lean figure, and Vernon did so like her thin, but -

"Oh," Dudley had this sort of look that Petunia couldn't really... deadpan? Yes, deadpan was the way to say it! "You mean sex."

And then Petunia choked on her cake.

She was unconscious for a good hour, in which time Dudley called the Hospital, Vernon got home from work to find only the _boy_ at home, and Harry was blamed for the entire incident.

**Author's Note: This was actually kind of hard to write, and not because of the disturbing thought of Petunia telling Dudders about sex. I'm one of those kids who never actually got The Talk, so I actually had no idea how The Talk would go. **

(1) I think that's the first time I've ever written "God" in a fic. I've had characters mention Merlin, Circe, Cliodna, Morgaine, Morgana, Morgan le Fey, the Powers That Be, and even god_s_, but never "God" as in the Christian Bible kind. It feels kind of weird... I've never written any character that might feasibly be Christian (like actually, not in the Harry Potter "we celebrate Christmas but God hates us" kind of way), so it's strange because I'm think "Sweet Circe" and writing "Good Lord".


	3. Making Moments Challenge: Sirius

Warnings: Character death, morbid, slightly slashy undertones

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and her affiliates of which I am not one. Out Through the Curtain belongs to The Hush Sound, Fueled by Ramen, and probably someone else but I dunno who that would be. Written for xoxcrescentmoonxox's Making Moments Challenge on HPFC.

Features: Lonely!Sirius

Out Through the Curtain

When Sirius Orion Black first escaped from Azkaban, he had been free. He couldn't remember being free before that.

He'd grown up in the prison that was Number 12 Grimmauld Place under his mother's thumb, never seen the world outside of the family homes, or the homes of family friends, or the occasional visit to Diagon Alley, which he couldn't properly enjoy. He hadn't seen the outside world much, and each time he wished he could get out and really see it.

Hogwarts, while a bit better because he could at least _hear_ about the world from others, he couldn't leave the school grounds until he was thirteen, and even that was only three forays into Hogsmeade. His parents may have given up on making him like them by that point, but his mother at least reveled in making his life a living hell. His father followed her, and Regulus both of them. They watched him, had him watched, and he could never do anything. In all his years of Hogwarts, he rarely saw anything that he didn't see every day.

He ran away from home, went to live with James after his sixth year at Hogwarts. That was his first _true_ taste of freedom. They did want they wanted when they wanted, with no one setting any limits beyond the law and a request to be back for breakfast and dinner. He went to his first night club that summer, saw muggle London for the first time, saw the city lights, and he decided that it didn't matter that he had money enough to buy a manor in the country, it didn't matter that he had a whole world waiting for him. This place would be his home forever, even if he went to Barbados or South Africa or Atlantis – the lights of London were always welcoming him home.

_Like the light was all I had_

Then he graduated, and there was the war pressing in on him. He joined The Order of the Phoenix to fight Voldemort, the darkness that tried to drown his light that brought him home... he could wait for his freedom. He had his entire life ahead of him! Sirius' main concern was keeping the world safe so that he _could_ be free to roam it at his will. He would wait, and he would do what he could to make his future possible.

Peter turned traitor. He got Lily and James killed, got Harry that bloody scar... and finally he got Sirius shoved into Azkaban. Sirius could hardly believe what had happened as he sat on that boat, hands hanging between his legs, and all he could do was laugh the hysterical, sobbing laugh of the broken. He couldn't watch the approach, and as the looming citadel rose above him, Sirius gave up all hope of being free. His chance was gone, and he was more prisoner now, literally and metaphorically, than ever before.

That night, the first night in his cell, Sirius wept until the dementors came and all he could feel was the cold numbness of complete heartbreak.

The first weeks went by at a crawl. Azkaban wasn't quite as inhumane as it was painted to be; yes, they were tortured day in and day out by dementors, they weren't allowed to bathe or groom in any way – the stench was unbearable at first, but like all prisoners of Azkaban, Sirius grew accustomed to it – nor did they have the outdoor hours and social interaction that a muggle prison would allow. Instead, each prisoner was given a novel per month and a book of matches per year, and the only other human they saw was whatever auror had the "honor" of delivering their meals.

He wondered if that, perhaps, was more cruel than anything else. Twenty-four matches and twelve books – usually bad romance novels – per year, and that was if they didn't go mad first. Sirius used his first book of matches in one day and sat wallowing in the darkness, his only light a gray haze that filtered through the miniscule window for roughly three hours per day by his reckoning.

The second set of matches lasted a week, the third a month, until he received the eleventh. He didn't use any of them. He didn't touch those matches, feared the touch of the light after his many years in the dark. All he had left was the knowledge that he wasn't guilty, that Harry was out there somewhere, living a good life, never having to know that he even had a godfather. All Sirius had left was Padfoot, a growing pile of bad romance novels sitting in the corner, and twenty matches. His last book of matches.

When he struck that last match, he knew that it would be over. He would no longer be the sanest prisoner in Azkaban, he would no longer be Sirius Black, the Marauder, the white sheep of the Black family. His entire existence would be changed by that one little stick of wood with the sulfur tip that he had tried so hard as a student to turn into a needle...

And then the Minister came. Sirius didn't know why, really. Minister Bagnold had come until two years ago, and then Fudge had started. One of the guards told him to respect the Minister. Sirius asked for the crossword, and the flustered Minister – undoubtedly he had expected that a prisoner of nine years would be battier than a drunken Seer – had given it over (with a quill no less!). The same had happened on the second inspection, and finally the third. Sirius took the _Prophet_ with a small nod and reclined against the filthy walls of his cell. He wondered idly if they still ran the Mad Muggle comics in the paper or if those had finally been dropped.

_I struck the book with my last match_

_The candle burned so soft and slow_

He couldn't wait more than a week. Peter was at Hogwarts!

Each day he lit five matches, leaving three for his last day after the inspection. The sight of that _rat_... he arranged the pile of books from his stay – all one-hundred and twenty-nine of them – at the outside of his cell, managing to toss them all so the touched and led to the latest one that sat just at the edge of his reach.

"What're you up to, Black?" Auror Eckhart asked as he came by with Sirius' evening meal. It wasn't like the illegal animagus to do things like this, so it would naturally put the auror on the defensive, or at least make his curious. Sirius simply shrugged and played with the ragged boot that had spent the better part of the past eleven years, eight months, and twelve days sitting in a corner. The other was already on his foot. "Finally gone off the deep end, have you? Well, budge up so I can give you your slops."

Sirius nodded distractedly – or so it would seem to any not privy to his thought patterns – and scooted left of the door. He waited patiently for it to open, for the bowl of soup and the half-loaf of stale bread to be set down, and when the door was half closed he struck his last match and set fire to the first of the books.

Normally, a fire would take at least three minutes to even make it to many more books should they be let alone rather than doused, even if they sat in the sort of lumpish arrangement that Sirius had made. Magical books, especially in the environment of Azkaban with the drying charms in place to prevent water damage made them as flammable as dry kindling doused in gasoline – prisoners tended to set fire to their books at the end of the month so that they didn't clutter up the space if they were cognizant of it, or because the novels were just that bad, perhaps out of insanity – and so all 129 books lit up in an instant.

Eckhart _screamed_, twirling around and leaving the door open. It wasn't enough for Sirius to get by – he was too weak to open the door any further – but for Padfoot it was perfect. He slipped out even as Eckhart whipped out his wand to stop the flames from spreading, and though he felt the coldness around the dementor accompanying the auror after he had passed the protective ring created by Eckhart's owl patronus, it didn't affect his mood as he ran and ran until he came to the sea.

From there it was all south and Sirius' mood only went up. He made it to Surrey where he remembered hearing Petunia lived – he'd found out that Moony didn't have custody of Harry and gone to the only other person he could think of to have his godson – only to find the boy sitting in front of a park. He watched as Harry tripped and got on the Knight Bus before nodding his doggy head. The boy would know what to do.

_I felt the warmth and felt its glow_

The next months were spent freely. He ate properly, getting scraps from restaurants and bakers who fell for his puppy-dog eyes, took regular baths – he even caught the floo, and the flu, in Liverpool! Oh happy day – and saw places he'd only heard of or passed over on his flying motorbike. As soon as the Rat was taken care of, he would see about getting the bike back from Hagrid, and he could fly in the way that he loved best, truly free of everything.

But it all came crashing down. Peter ran away and Sirius had to run off. He went south to Africa first, then he hit the Bahamas and Jamaica. But it simply wasn't the same as he imagined. He had no compunctions about returning to Scotland when he found out that Harry was in trouble and flew with Buckbeak as soon as he could to make sure that he would be there to protect Harry.

He wasn't free anymore, he was contained to a cave with only the hippogriff for company.

_  
Salt tasting tears_

_They roll off of my lips_

Harry visited, once. It was the second time that they ever spent any time together. Only so much could be covered in letters, and it broke Sirius' heart to see how much all of this was really affecting the child that he had changed the diapers of (once – Lily was out of the house with Alice Longbottom and Sirius drew the short straw). Everything that he had wanted was starting to crumble around his ears before it was even starting to form much.

When Voldemort came back, Sirius was sent to collect Remus and "lie low" at his house. That was fine, Sirius had his best friend with him, and he could deal with being cooped up in the modest cottage because he had Remus and he could go out in his dog form if he started feeling claustrophobic. That changed when Dumbledore sent a letter, hardly a week after he got to Remus', saying that they were moving to Number 12 Grimmauld Place and that Sirius had to be there, had to _stay_ there.

_One for each day I'm inside this house, it's a trap_

_One I can't quite escape so pretend it's the place that I love_

"Sirius, you have to eat something!" Molly pleaded. Harry was stuck in Little Whinging with the Dursleys, and Sirius was stuck in this house. He was imprisoned He was just a useless bag of skin. Instead of responding, Sirius sent a withering glare at the Weasley matriarch and closed in on himself. If he had just let James place the responsibility on him!

If only he hadn't gone after Peter, if only he had gone back to the castle faster when they had Peter in custody, if only the bloody Ministry weren't so concerned with appearances!

But, really, it was Sirius' fault, and he vowed to be able to do something the next time it came up. He wouldn't be useless. He would protect Harry, protect the last light he had in his life, and then they would be a family.

_  
Won't let it pass me by again_

And then they would be free together, and Sirius could show Harry the life he had missed!

_Won't let it pass me by again_

Harry arrived in mid August, and Sirius couldn't have been happier. As soon as Dumbledore gave him the date of his arrival, the change in his attitude was visible to everyone. Hermione and Ron had tried cheering him up with the letters that Harry sent, but they sounded clipped even to him who barely knew the teen. And suddenly, he was told that Harry was coming for the rest of the summer. Harry was going to be at Grimmauld with him.

Sirius wasn't sure whether it was more appropriate to laugh or to cry, so he did both. He laughed and smiled and beamed in front of everyone else, even ate a bit more, and in the attic with Buckbeak, the room where once he had played games with his little brother and hid from his parents, he cried. He would see Harry, but the boy would be just as much a prisoner as he was.

What else could he do, now but wait for Harry's arrival. He'd made sure that Dumbledore trusted only the most reliable with the task.

_  
The grass was clipped_

_The summer sun_

_Was beating down on my front yard_

_All the boys and girls would laugh_

_I'd watch them through the curtain's crack_

If Sirius could have had it his way, he would have been glued to Harry's side from the moment he set foot in the house, never letting go. But Dumbledore said that Harry wanted to be alone in his grief. It wasn't anything that was said, but Sirius could see the clouds of angst wafting off of his godson, the boy that he just wanted to know...

He respected that wish, but he kept an eye on Harry. He seemed so much happier when he was around people, though! That beaming smile that was reserved only for those closest to him was genuine and proved that he _wanted_ to be there, he wanted to see Sirius and his friends. He didn't just want to wallow in some pit of despair, he wanted – no, he _needed_ – to have people around him, taking the edge off of his pain. One person died, and he needed to remember that the rest of them weren't about to up and leave.

Sirius gave no inkling as to his thoughts and simply smiled at Harry, giving him silent encouragement.

"I'm always here for you," Sirius said once. Harry had stared at him for a full minute then before his face broke into the biggest smile Sirius had ever seen on the boy, bigger than when he offered to have Harry live with him when they first met. It broke his heart and put it back together all at the same time to think of what might have been done to make him that way, but Sirius just kept smiling for Harry, trying not to let his mood show. The tears were saved for private places, like with Buckbeak and in his own room.

_  
Place all your bets and watch me lose_

_The life that I got but never used_

Padfoot watched as the Hogwarts Express pulled away from the station, trotting beside it for a time, hoping to catch a glimpse of Harry in one of the windows, but the boy didn't show up. He let out a whimper as Tonks, still in the form of an old woman, patted his head. They returned to Grimmauld Place, to that place that was worse than Azkaban because he could see everything outside but he couldn't _see_ it.

He didn't even turn back into himself that day and remained as a dog, simpler, easier to please, though he wasn't. When Remus joined him up in Buckbeak's room and simply patted him on the head before sitting silently in his company, Sirius managed to wonder if perhaps his state of literal doggedness was worse than what could be seen in his human form.

The thought, and that night, were never brought up again, though Remus unofficially moved in to keep him from sinking into a pit of despair, taking on the role for him that he had held for Harry. Sirius couldn't help but lean on the support of his best friend. Remus was the solid, the one that was always there, and probably the only reason that Sirius didn't go rushing off when he heard what that _toad_ had done, was doing, to Harry.

When he saw Harry appearing earlier than expected, he knew something was wrong and had to listen as Harry divulged the truth of his nightmares, his visions sent by Voldemort. That night he sat up late with the boy, being his anchor and keeping him from being tossed about by the storm of his emotions.

It occurred to Sirius that emotions rhymed with oceans and that he really shouldn't be thinking in sailing metaphors when he was keeping Harry from worrying overmuch for Arthur, and diverted his attention back to the present.

_Dream every night that one will come true_

_But only bad ones ever do_

He had always imagined that, one day, he would have the chance to sit down with Harry and tell him all about the exploits of the Marauders, the full truth and not just that they were pranksters. He wouldn't speak ill of a dead man, but Sirius knew plenty well enough to speak ill of himself. He had been a bully, and while the main target gave as good as he got, he had expected that he would be the one to tell Harry, or perhaps Remus would. They were the last true Marauders; it was their right.

When Harry traversed the flames to speak with him, to tell him what he had seen in Snape's memories, Sirius felt another of his dreams shatter. Harry's notions from seeing that incident would drive him to take every good natured story with a grain of salt. Surely, he would feel that Sirius and Remus had always lied to him! Sirius tried to rectify the damage, but he feared it just wasn't possible.

_  
Won't let it pass me by again_

He vowed to tell Harry _everything_ next time, no matter what.

_Won't let it pass me by again_

He vowed to protect Harry from any reprisal from that fat toady of Fudge's and to keep bats-for-brains Snivellus Snape off the boy's tail, too.

_  
My heart beats way too fast_

_To let regret sit in my lap_

The floo-call came at half-four. Sirius was sitting in the attic with Remus and Buckbeak again. Kreacher opened the door, showed no respect to Buckbeak which almost got Sirius brained (he should have let the hippogriff have the bloody elf for _dinner_!), and it was only after five minutes of abuse to Remus' parentage, appearance and status and Sirius in general that he finally said that someone had come through the floo, and that the Order was assembling in the kitchen.

Sirius swore, bowed a polite good-bye to Buckbeak – he was a great ally – before dragging Remus downstairs to the meeting faster than the werewolf probably should have been taken with the moon coming up in mere days. The meeting started at five o'clock when as many members as could make it had. When Snape _finally_ revealed what all the fuss about, Sirius felt his entire world crash down on him.

Harry had been tricked by Voldemort.

Harry had been tricked to go after the prophecy – the prophecy that Sirius and Remus both had known, just as James, Lily, Peter, Frank, and Alice had been told under a secrecy charm when Harry and Neville were implicated – by Voldemort under the impression that he, Sirius, was being tortured there. He was in the Department of Mysteries.

It didn't matter that Remus had grabbed his arm, that Kingsley was trying to calm him down verbally, or that Molly was going into mother mode over _him_ of all people, all Sirius cared about was that disdainful and smug look on Snape's face and the fact that Harry was in danger.

There were two things in life that Sirius had yet to do, that he could do at that moment, and never regret.

_  
Won't let it pass me by again_

The first was punching Snape in the face. That was satisfying in so many ways.

_Won't let it pass me by again_

The second was running out of the house and apparating across London, ignoring the bright summer sun that was beating down on him, and appearing in front of the guest entrance of the Ministry. When he saw the small grouping of thestrals, obviously of Hogwarts stock, it was easily apparent that they really had come, that they really were there, and that Snape had _really_ deserved that punch. Several more pops sounded behind Sirius, who was already getting into the phone booth. Three other bodies pressed in with him and they were going down.

Remus, Tonks, and Kingsley didn't even bother telling him not to go, and for that Sirius was beyond grateful. He didn't want to punch the few people he cared for with the same hand that had just given Snivellus a black eye.

_  
(Won't let this pass me by again)_

Through the atrium to the lifts, down to the Department of Mysteries, and Sirius supposed it was only sheer luck that Remus, a member of the first wave, revealed his knowledge of the D.O.M. when the other groups had arrived. Remus called for the correct door to open itself, and they were suddenly facing a room with a few teenagers, more than a few death eaters, and one thing that truly caught Sirius' attention – an archway with a billowing veil.

He pushed that out of his mind and instead dove into the fray, turning his wand on the first Death Eater he saw.

_Won't let it pass me by again_

He was finally doing it, he was defending Harry. He would win his freedom, Harry's freedom, in this battle, or else he would die. Sirius had no doubts that this was a fight where either the Death Eaters were _all_ taken down, or someone would die. If it was him... well, the fewest people would be affected. Who cared for Sirius Black? They might declare a national holiday over it.

But that didn't mean he was giving up.

Sirius fought with everything he had, and when he saw Tonks going down, he jumped into that fight immediately, glaring all his hate and anguish at his least favorite cousin. Her own _niece_! He snarled and attacked, soon going into the regular pattern. It was addictive, heart pounding, and Sirius couldn't help but let out scathing comments to his cousin as the adrenaline beat through his veins and told him to do idiotic things, jumping off of tall building, flying without a broom, all of it.

He let out a feral grin and a comment that sent him into laughter.

_(Won't let this pass me by again)_

Suddenly, he was falling, and he felt the cool brush of cloth against his face, and Sirius realized that his prediction was all too true, and that someone really was going to die.

The crushed look that he caught from Harry in that instant made him realize that he was mistaken in thinking that no one cared for him, either. Harry cared for him as much as Sirius did him, and with a horrified realization, Sirius found Remus' gaze on him as the cloth of the Veil caressed his cheek, drawing his paralyzed body further into its depths. He had left Remus alone, he was leaving Harry alone.

And there was nothing he could do, even the freedom to moves his limbs having been stolen from him in his final moments.

_Won't let it pass me by again_...

**Author's Note: Pretty good for my first song-fic in... two years? More than that I think. I haven't written a song-fic since March of 2006, so two and a half years. The last one I wrote was either a satirical Harry/Colin to "Happy Together" (Stalker version) or else a Marauders' Era St. Patties day to a drinking song. Either way, I think this one was better than any others I ever wrote :)**


	4. Random Inspiration Fruit: George Parvati

Warnings: Lemons... but not in the way you're thinking, kinda weird, Deathly Hallows spoilers

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and affiliates of which I am not one. Written for Megsy42's Random Character Challenge, With a Midnight Smile's Fruit Challenge, and Stalker of Stories' (my) Inspiration Challenge on HPFC.

Features: George Weasley being helpful, Parvati Patil

When Life Gives You Lemons

The Battle of Hogwarts had passed months ago. It had been decided that all students of Hogwarts would retake the past year so that the brain-washing of the 1997-'98 school year could be undone and so that muggleborn students could attend with those of their own age. The fact that more than a quarter of the student body had been removed because of the Muggle Acts was not something that was well taken, and Headmistress Minerva McGonagall had made sure all was well.

Not that Parvati Patil, seventh year Gryffindor, had even attended that year. She had been at Beauxbatons, but because of the major difference in class aims and sizes (never mind that every class was taught in French, and translation charms could only be cast every other day) her grades had fallen below the usual standard. She may not be as smart as Padma, who took to the French school like a fish to water, but she wasn't stupid either.

Unfortunately, her grades were bad enough that she opted to not take her NEWTs that year and simply go to Hogwarts again for the repeat seventh year. It was great to see Lavender again, and it was nice to see that Harry Potter still wasn't letting the fame get to his head (though it was a right shame that he was dating that Weasley bint; didn't he know she had shagged half of the Gryffindors her age and up, never mind the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws?). It was nice to be back at Hogwarts, which felt so much like home and was filled with so many people who she loved to see day in and out.

But the rest of "Dumbledore's Army" did not see it that way. Not one of them were as happy to see her except the Golden Trio themselves. Everyone else thought she was a traitor to the cause because she hadn't been there. While Padma's friends welcomed _her_ with open arms, Parvati found herself, for the first time, without any companionship.

With a huff, Parvati rapped on the door of the Defense office. This year's professor, George Weasley (he was only going to be there for the year while Diagon Alley was reconstructed), had offered to help her with her Patronus. Harry had offered as well, but as soon as he did everyone in the class who didn't know jumped on him and Parvati had no choice but to ask the professor.

George had requested her to come after dinner so he could help her, and so she had.

"Come in," he called, and so she did. The door opened and she could see him leaning over some notes, the side of his head – the side missing an ear – facing the door and giving her no view of what he was working on. Likely a new product for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"Thanks for helping me, Professor George," she smiled at him as best she could. There were three Weasleys teaching at Hogwarts that year; Charlie Weasley was helping Hagrid with Care of Magical Creatures, George teaching Defense, and Arthur Weasley had taken over Muggle Studies for the moment, though the class was taught only on Saturdays since the Weasley patriarch was still working at the Ministry on weekdays.

"Drop the 'Professor' bit out of class, Parvati," George informed her with a small smile, not even bothering to look up. "I'm only two years older than you are."

"Right, sorry," it was the same spiel he went through with the rest of the school, she knew. Being called "Professor" made him twitch if it was out of class. It was bad enough that he barely smiled at all now that Fred was gone, but everyone knew that you only called him "Professor" out of class once or else he really _wouldn't_ smile.

"Besides, I didn't offer to help you to help you with your patronus," George continued as if Parvati hadn't spoken at all. His wording, however, confused her. If he didn't offer aid with the intention of helping her patronus, than why...? "You're having troubles with the rest of Gryffindor, aren't you?"

"It's gotten better," and it had. Everyone was just being immature. She had learned at Beauxbatons to stop being immature herself, and the rest of the school was already getting over it.

"Still," George finally looked up from whatever he was looking at and turned to face her. "I think my latest invention might help you some." He picked up the diagram, and Parvati face-faulted.

_Weasley's Wizard Wheezes presents_

_Forge's Sure-Fire Friend Maker!_

_Just add lemons_

And just below that was a picture of a bra... with two lemons sitting in it.

Once a prankster, Parvati supposed. Besides, it was good to see George smiling again; he looked his best when he was happy, and if something like that would cheer him up, than who was she to deny him? So she laughed along with the one-eared prankster.

**Author's Note: Just weirdness... but it works I guess. Poor Gred and Forge though... (sigh) The quote this was based around was "When life gives you lemons, stuff 'em in your bra to make you boobs look bigger." (it was on an msn icon I saw on mytheme, so... yeah)**


	5. Addiction Challenge: RemusSirius

Warnings: mild slash warning, addiction, pretty short for me

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and affiliates, of which I am not one. Written for xxjonibaby's Addiction Challenge on HPFC.

Features: ChocolateAddicted!Remus, Devious!Sirius

Just Like Heaven

Remus didn't have wonder how he got into this situation. It was Sirius' fault, no doubt about it.

It was Sirius' fault that Remus was tied to his bed.

It was Sirius' fault that he hadn't eaten chocolate all day.

It was probably also Sirius' fault that he hadn't been able to find his copy of Hogwarts, A History that morning.

Quite simply, it was all Sirius' fault.

It had been a rather normal day, come to think of it. He had woken up, gotten his things together – couldn't find Hogwarts, A History, which he was supposed to read for Advanced History of Magic with Professor Binns – and been ready to go to breakfast before Hogsmeade. That was when the Marauders attacked.

Or, rather, Sirius tackled Remus to the ground while James rooted him on and Peter relayed a distraction with Frank Longbottom, a very talented boy in the year above them, too prevent outside interference. The werewolf never stood a chance.

Which was how Remus found himself tied to his bed for hours on end...

Okay, so it had been five minutes. Maybe. Probably more like three. But that was a long time to go without movement. Or chocolate.

"It's for your own good, Moony," James stated in a mock Holier-Than-Thou tone. "You need this. It's not normal to be addicted to chocolate."

"No. I need chocolate," he informed the younger boy (it was entertaining to irk James with that, even if it was only a two week difference). "Now untie me, you prats!"

"Nope," Sirius stated calmly. "We have to cure you. Wormtail found this one in a book yesterday: Addictus Relievus!" He paused, looking over the young werewolf.

"Is he still addicted?" Peter asked. The answering glare caused him to squeak and hop away.

"Hey Prongs, weren't you going to go stalk Evans through Hogsmeade today?" Sirius asked, a devious gleam in his eye as if he had completely forgotten about their mission. That, of course, set the messy-headed boy running.

Too bad he forgot that he was still in his sleep wear – that is, boxers the same shade as Lily Evans' eyes and nothing else.

The traumatized screams of the first years would be remembered for years to come.

"I better go bring him some pants," Peter muttered before he two left. Only Remus and Sirius were left, and the latter promptly sat on theformer's stomach, practically straddling him. But that wasn't right, now was it? Sirius couldn't be suicidal. Remus glared.

"You have ten seconds to give me a good reason not to kill you," he informed the dog animagus succinctly.

"Azkaban? Guilt?" Sirius fired off. "You would die without me? You like Padfoot? I'm fluffy?" Still no luck. "I know where your chocolate is."

"Crisis averted," Remus informed him. "Now untie me and give me the chocolate."

"No."

"Then you need a new reason. You have to the count of five to give me my chocolate back before I lose it. Oops. Too late!" He snapped his head up to try biting the boy sitting on his stomach.

Sometimes Sirius was too good at convincing his boyfriend of things.

"You taste like chocolate," stated the werewolf when they came up for air. "Gimme."

Sirius could be heard grumbling about "needy boyfriends with one track minds" for the rest of the day.

**Author's Note: Short. Um... not much else to say. I kinda like it though.**


	6. Five Things Challenge: Draco

Warnings: mentions of death, destruction, redemption

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and affiliates, of which I am not one. Written for Cuban Sombrero Gal's Five Things Challenge on HPFC.

Features: Repentant!Draco

Not Evil Enough

The first time Draco Malfoy did something to disappoint his father was when he was twelve. He had only been twelve for about a month and a half – it was mid-July – and he had gone into his father's study to give him an invitation from the Notts to a dinner the coming weekend.

There was a diary on his father's desk, a small book with leather binding and the name "T.M. Riddle" embossed on the front.

Lucius hadn't been in at the time, so Draco hadn't thought twice about opening the diary. There was nothing in it. He flipped to a random page, borrowed a quill from his father's collection, and decided that he would draw a dragon on the page. He set feather to paper and made the first line. It disappeared into the pages, causing Draco to stop.

Nothing more happened.

Slowly, so as not to give any warning, he signed his name on the paper. That, too, sunk in.

And, in the same ebony ink he was using, a message surfaced. "Hello Draco Malfoy. I am Tom Riddle. Are you Lucius' son?"

He slammed the book shut and pushed it away. Never trust anything if you don't know who enchanted it; that was a rule of the Malfoy family. He carefully rinsed his father's quill and placed the feather with the others.

"Draco," his father's voice reverberated from the doorway. "What are you doing in my study?"

Draco didn't jump like any normal child might; he was a Malfoy. Instead, he stood calmly and produced the invitation. "From the Nott family, father," he stated. He could wait to ask about the diary. "An invitation to Chloe's birthday dinner this weekend."

"A bit late to be sending out missives, aren't they?" Lucius sneered. "We shall attend. Your mother will take you for dress robes tomorrow. Do you have any other business in here?"

"Only if you would tell me about that diary there," he admitted. Lucius smirked at his son.

"That is something that will bring quite a bit of trouble to Hogwarts, but only out of the dungeons. When the time comes, you will be able to aid in the downfall of Potter and Dumbledore... Now go along. You will see what happens when this diary comes into play."

Draco barely heard his father mutter "Slytherin's Heir shall return" before he had fled the room.

He could have told his father that the battiest of the house elves (none of the Malfoy elves were quite normal due to inbreeding) was in the room and listening intently. He could have told his father that that elf had a spark of something different.

But he didn't.

The second time was when he was thirteen.

It wasn't too hard to figure out that Professor Lupin was a werewolf. It took him all of three months. Professor Snape wasn't exactly subtle, but it seemed to go right over the heads of nearly all the student body. He could have told them.

He could have run out of Lupin's classroom proclaiming the man's werewolf status to the world.

But Lupin was a good teacher, and he seemed the opposite of everything Draco had been told about werewolves. Even though the werewolf had been a Gryffindor, he didn't treat his own house above the Slytherins.

So Draco could have told.

The third time was when he was freshly sixteen, at the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts.

Professor Umbridge had caught a group of Gryffindors (plus on Ravenclaw) snooping. He should have been happy that is was Potter. He should have been happy that the Gryffindor Golden boy was going to be crucio'd. At least, that's what the voice that sounded like his father said.

When the Gryffindors (plus Ravenclaw) staged a coup on him and the other Inquisitorial Squad members who had captured them, Draco pretended to fight back.

He didn't like the odds of what would happen to the wizarding world if the toad got Potter. Besides, she was horrible, even the Slytherins agreed. No, there was not going to be any mercy for her from the Gryffindors. He could sit back and watch the show.

Even though this would go against the Dark Lord's direct orders, to support Umbridge, he honestly preferred Potter.

If only his father knew.

The fourth time was the turning point in his life.

He had been of age for ten days. That was all; ten. Ten days when he was eligible to take his apparition test, ten days when he could leave school without his father's say so, ten days when he could use magic outside of school (not that he didn't; he could just do it legally now).

And suddenly, with his wand pointed at Albus Dumbledore and several of his fellow Death Eaters rooting him on, Draco didn't feel like he ought to.

He should have been triumphant. He should have been smirking and telling the old coot to say his last words. He should have been laughing with the Carrows and Greyback.

He should have revealed Potter, who he knew was on the tower. He had seen the Boy-Who-Lived's foot from under the hem of an invisibility cloak. Instead of yanking off that cloak so that Potter could be delivered to his master, Draco used a subtle wand movement and some silent casting to cover up that foot while he was talking with Dumbledore.

Almost giving in to Dumbledore.

The youngest Malfoy might have taken the offer, had he been given the chance. But Severus came and killed him.

Which led to the fifth.

It was no specific moment. It was ongoing, Draco's betrayal of the Dark Lord.

It started simply with passing information along to Severus, who would subtly use that information himself or pass it along anonymously to other parties who could do something.

Then he started giving portkeys to muggles during raids. No one noticed.

Then Potter was captured. Draco changed the wards on Malfoy Manor to allow apparition to go both ways, again without notice. He lost his wand for the effort, but Potter was out and so there was still hope for the Wizarding World. That's what he told himself.

It was a slow process in which Draco realized that maybe his father's way was not the one to take.

But sweet baby Merlin, he wished he had seen it sooner.

**Authors Note: Okay... so that's the third one-shot I've written this weekend. I'm doing pretty darn well :D My prompt was Five Times Draco Didn't Do As His Father Wanted (I can't quite figure out how to say it...)  
**


	7. Gross Ships Challenge: SiriusPeter

Warnings: Mild slash pairing, allusions to gross pairing, _**READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.**_

Disclaimers: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and her affiliates, if which I am not one. Written for Shuna's Gross Ships Challenge on HPFC.

Features: Hopeful!Oblivious!Sirius, Devious!Peter

Where We Went Wrong

Like he did every night, Sirius parked his motorbike in the space in front of an apartment building in Liverpool. The keys were deposited in his dragon leather jacket, the anti-theft charms activated, and he walked up to the front door of the complex, hitting the buzzer for number 9. Just like every other night for the past three months since Peter had moved into this building, having become the Secret Keeper to the Potters.

Except this time, the door was not immediately unlocked. Sirius furrowed his brow and rang again.

Still nothing.

With a long-suffering sigh, Sirius pulled his own key from his pocket and turned it in the lock. Peter was probably asleep then, or maybe on the floo with someone. He'd _told_ the rat to put in a floo-buzzer to be more aware of his surroundings, but did he listen? Of course not.

"Wormtail, I swear if you're ignoring me," Sirius sighed again as he found Peter wasn't even answering the door that was directly his. He twisted the handle and peeked in. Everything was in order, even the pizza box from the night previous was sitting just where it had been left. Not a thing out of place, as was expected for Peter, considering the ex-Gryffindor had some insane OCD issues. It was always a laugh among the Marauders that Peter, not Remus, would be the neat freak when his animagus form was a rat of all things.

The only thing out of place was Peter himself, in that he was not present. That, however, made no sense considering he wasn't allowed out unless it was with Sirius. The dog animagus even had to do Peter's shopping!

But Peter was gone, there was no sign of struggle... Sirius dropped the bags of candy he had brought. They had been planning to watch some scary muggle films and pass out candy, but Peter wasn't there. And if he wasn't there... well, where was he?

Sirius charmed a note to pop up in front of Peter when he returned if it was before Sirius found him – didn't he know what kind of danger they were in? – and left. He would check their old haunts before... no, he had to check on Lily and James first. Damn it, Peter would have to wait; what if he had been kidnapped and Voldemort was going to kill the Potters at that moment?

He was on his bike and flying south before he could give it a second thought.

Upon his arrival, the south corner of the Potters' house in Godric's Hollow had collapsed inward, and from the gawking of the muggle neighbors, the Fidelius was down. A crew of muggle firemen were putting away a thick hose and one was holding a small bundle. Sirius ran forward to that particular firefighter. If that bundle contained who he thought it did...

"Sir, you can't come this close," the fireman stated. "It could still be dangerous."

"This is my friend's house," Sirius waved him off. "You've got to tell me if any of them survived. My godson..." He looked at the bundle, a small hand was clutching the blanket's edge. Harry was so small for being fifteen months; he was walking and talking just like any toddler his age, but he stayed so small... it was supposed to be a sign of magical power when a child stayed small like that.

"Only the kid made it out, though how he survived..." the fireman shook his head, handing over the toddler. "He's one lucky baby. All that's on him is that scratch on his forehead. You know who lived here?"

"The Potters. Lily and James Potter," answered the animagus idly. He found the "cut" on Harry's forehead quickly enough. It was already sealed, a daub of blood smeared over the site and a smudge of ash on his cheek. That lightning bolt scar though...

A loud crashing sounded from the backside of the Potters' lawn, where Sirius had parked the flying motorbike. Sirius clutched his godson to his chest and – seeing the fireman had gone on to crowd control – went to investigate. Hagrid could be seen holding a rather wilted looking broom, and Sirius relaxed.

"Sirius? What're you doin' 'ere?" Hagrid thundered as Sirius approached.

"Something wasn't right," he explained quickly. "It was just... something was wrong. And I came and... the muggles have already taken care of the fire. You can tell Dumbledore that I've got Harry and to get some fresh wards up before the muggles try getting in the house, okay? Lily liked her muggle thingies, but the house is still blatantly magical."

"I'll tell 'im when I see 'im abou' the 'ouse," Hagrid mentioned. He had a sad look to him. "But a was tol' to bring 'Arry to 'him meself. 'E needs to be checked over an' whatnot."

"Oh... I..." no, this would work. He could try to find Peter this way. When he found Peter, they could go find Dumbledore and Peter could be healed – Sirius refused to think he was dead – and then they would raise Harry. He hoped Remus wasn't the traitor in the Order; he could visit. "Yeah. That'd be fine. You... you can take my bike to wherever you're meeting Dumbledore. I need to find Peter. I'll be back for Harry soon."

"Tha's mighty kind o' yeh," Hagrid smiled before his expression dimmed, his gaze falling on the dead house. "A righ' shame..."

"We'll make the best of it," Sirius pulled the keys from his pocket and thrust them into Hagrid's large hand, followed by the bundle containing Harry. "Take care of my bike and make sure Harry is well taken care of for when I come and get him. Hopefully it will be soon."

They parted ways. If Sirius had known that would be the last time he saw his godson for eleven and a half years – and his bike _ever_ – he might have been less concerned with finding Peter.

* * *

It was on the third day of searching that Sirius saw him.

Peter Pettigrew wasn't the best looking man out there, nor the most impressive. He was about five feet and eight inches tall – a good six inches shorter than the tallest of the Marauders (Remus), and three shorter than Sirius – with pale brown hair and eyes that had perpetually wet eyes. His nose was small, a bit pointy, and while he was chubby he was not rotund in any meaning of the word.

When Sirius had first started noticing anything really special about the rat animagus, he had called him "cute". It was fitting, and in his honest opinion the truth. Peter Pettigrew had been a mousy kid, a rather stringy teenager, and was a cute man.

So as he stood at a fruit stand, Sirius watched him, enraptured. Each mannerism was the same, each tremulous smile; this was Peter. No Death Eater had taken his place. This was not some polyjuiced copy who would turn on him. Sirius was so relieved, so damn relieved...

He ran over to the least appreciated of the Marauders happily. He must have escaped the Death Eaters who captured him! He must have looked for Sirius and read the note and knew not to worry. After all, it's easier to find someone if one of them is staying still, isn't it? So Peter... yes, Peter must have gone back to his apartment and was out buying groceries.

It didn't occur to Sirius that Peter's apartment was in Liverpool, a good hundred kilometers away.

"Pete!" Sirius grinned as he came up beside his lover. "Oh Merlin Peter, I've been so worried. After James and Lily... but we can raise Harry, yeah? Come on, you must need to see Madame Pomfrey after what those Death Eaters..."

He trailed off. When he came up, he hadn't noticed that Peter was wearing short sleeves, something he rarely did because he got cold easily. But the tattoo on his left forearm – something Sirius was sure he would have noticed before – stood out starkly on the pale flesh.

"You... Peter, you..." Sirius felt like throwing up. His eyes couldn't be removed from that construct of ink and the darkest of magicks.

But Peter had no such compunctions.

Some shouted words and an explosion later, and Sirius could do little more than laugh at the horror of what had happened. He was the one who suggested Peter. He was so sure that Peter was innocent...

He was the one who fell in love and slept with the enemy.

**Author's Note: The pairing is totally squick to me (but that was the point of writing it). Sirius/Peter... gods I'm twisted. What did you think? Disturbing, right?**


	8. When You're Evil: DracoHermione

Warnings: Major OoC, spoilers through book 7, character death, dark

Disclaimers: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and associates, of whom I am not one. Based off of the song When You're Evil by Voltaire. Contains some lyrics from the song When You're Evil by Voltaire (lyrics used will be noted at the bottom of the story). I do not own this song nor the ideas behind it; I do, however, own a copy of the CD that has that song on it. Response to the When You're Evil Challenge by zemblanity on HPFC.

Featuring: Evil!Hermione (no, I'm not joking), Evil!Draco

No One Loves You When You're Evil

Hermione Jane Granger – no wait, Hermione _Jean_ Granger now (1) – watched the revel of the Light Side. Harry had just defeated Voldemort. As expected, she rushed forward and hugged Harry, jumping up and down for joy. He was staring at the wands in his hands, and but Hermione kept the smile on her face and a single thought in mind.

_All according to plan._

When Harry set the Elder Wand aside, Hermione palmed it without notice. Likewise, that evening she took her new wand and used it as a dousing rod to find the Resurrection Stone. She returned to the castle late, but the festivities were ongoing, and she told Ron it was a girl thing that led to her leaving.

It was pathetic, really, how easy it was to distract him. She had written him off years ago as useless, and went through with her plan three days later.

At Ron's funeral, the black-clad muggleborn witch had to hold her emotions in a tight grip to keep from laughing as a Crying Coffee Toffee set her to soaking George Weasley's shoulder.

She couldn't really remember when it started. She knew that, one day, she had been perfectly content to go through life as Harry Potter's bookish friend. Hermione had been completely contented to hide in the library at school and visit foreign countries over the holidays.

Then... then, she realized how unfulfilling it was, how inferior her "friends" were and how Ron reveled in holding her and Harry back. For some time, she was indignant on Harry's behalf as well, but that faded away completely halfway through the Great Camping Trip that had taken place over the past year; even without Ron she found him to be lacking.

But she would wait to kill him. Unlike Voldemort, Hermione had a comprehensive plan to cover the next ten years all of which would culminate with her as the incontestable ruler of the entire world.

She had been given many names by the public. Witches believed her a man, due to the gruesome deaths. "Surprise" they called her. The men, likewise, thought her female due to the poetic way each death was executed. "Misfortune" was the name they gave her. But call on her by any name... anyway, it was all the same.

It was only after the death of Kingsley Shacklebolt, a quiet death in his sleep with a dagger in his gut, three years after the downfall of Voldemort that Hermione was discovered. She was disgusted that it had taken so long outraged that it happened at all. But she stood firm in front of Draco Malfoy, waiting for him to turn her in to the Aurors or any other number of things.

Instead, he took her hand and apparated her to Malfoy Manor where they sat down for tea in the middle of the night. Hermione finally found someone who was... worthy of her. He was smart, sneaky... he had found her out and approved of her work so wholly that he would stand at her side.

Perhaps she would have questioned him if she weren't so great at legilimancy. He didn't see her blood when he looked at her, but rather, Draco saw her great ambition and her ability to carry it through that was so lacking in the magical world.

"It gets a bit lonely," she admitted at their third meeting. "Being evil, I mean." It was a very small admission, the slightest baring of her soul, and Draco only smiled and helped her iron out a tiny kink in her plan.

One year later, when Hermione was sworn in as the Minster of Magic, Draco arrived in her office. Harry had already left from his latest report on the auror forces. It had been inane, and Hermione was nursing a headache when Draco entered. She nodded to him shortly and poured out the tea that she had ordered from Percy Weasley. The bloody sycophant was driving her just as mad as Harry's reports, and she couldn't stand it.

"You don't seem very happy," Draco observed as he took up the perfectly doctored tea. Over the past year, they had seen each other so much that Hermione knew how he took his tea, no matter what sort of tea it was.

"It's only been 4 years; there are six more before this is done," Hermione waved off the concern from her minion – the only other person she trusted with her life's work – and took a deep drink from her tea. It made her headache worse, but the caffeine would keep her awake through the meeting and long enough to get home. "I can be happy then."

Draco only shook his head. "What I'd do to see you smile, even for a little while... but that's neither here nor there, I suppose."

Years passed, and Hermione gained power so fast that she had to adjust her plans. It was amazing the sort of support she gained with both the Malfoy money and her own reputation behind her.

She had been so sure that no one could love her when she was evil, not while knowing, but for once she didn't mind being wrong just this once.

Six years into the plan, Draco proposed to her; she hadn't been aware that they were dating, but she accepted gladly. Minister for Magic Hermione Malfoy was a force to be reckoned with in the magical world, and became the Head of the International Confederation of Wizards in the seventh year of the plan, one year ahead of schedule. One year after that, she had passed the majority of the international laws that would lead to her dominion, killed Harry Potter via dementors kiss for conspiring to commit treason, and had her first child.

The boy's name was Regulus Draconis Malfoy. He had silver eyes, dirty blond hair, and Hermione could immediately could tell that the boy would be the worthy heir of the Empire.

On Regulus' first birthday, Hermione was in control of both the magical and muggle world.

The day after, she was buried next to Ron.

"I was lying through my teeth," murmured the Emperor of Earth, a triumphant gleam in his eyes as he bounced his son on his hip. "Your tears were all the pay I ever needed."

**Author's Note: Dark, yes... but I like it X3  
**

**Quotes from When You're Evil are all altered slightly "to the gentlemen I'm Miss Fortune/To the ladies I'm Sir Prize/But all me by any name/Any way it's all the same" and "It gets so lonely being evil/what I'd do to see you smile/even for a little while/and no one loves you when you're evil.../your tears are all the pay I'll ever need!" Voltaire is awesome... I've been listening to his music since I was in elementary school, so I couldn't help it when I saw this challenge :3  
**

(1) Rowling changed Hermione's middle name when she wrote book 7 because Umbridge's middle name is also Jane.


	9. Meme 3: SnapeTonks

Warnings: strange pairing, mentioned sexual acts, spoilers for all seven books

Disclaimers: Harry Potter belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling and her associates, of whom I am not one. Written for The Meme Challenge, prompt 3: What would happen if 6 got 1 pregnant?

Featuring: Snape (6) and Tonks (1)

Scarlet

It had been an act of frustration. It hadn't been wrong, per se; neither of them had been in any sort of relationship at the time, and they both knew one another's reasons for doing what they had done. He had done it because of Dumbledore, who he was going to kill when the time came. She had done it because of Remus, who had time and again refused to even look at her the way she desired to be looked at.

So, frustrated and frayed at the edges, they had tumbled into bed, limbs jumbled together. Both had their eyes wide open.

They writhed on the mattress, and even though they knew what they were doing wasn't wrong, it felt wrong. Tonks had tried to make it easier on her bedmate by taking on the guise of Lily Evans. Snape had almost cried.

One week later, Draco Malfoy had allowed Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Snape killed Dumbledore and left. Remus gave Tonks her chance.

She felt somehow sullied as she held hands with Remus at the funeral. Her white dress at the wedding was a lie, because she had knowingly betrayed the man who she claimed to have committed her heart to, even before they were together in any sense.

In August, she woke up and threw up immediately after. Remus was concerned, and she used a charm to find out what was wrong.

She was pregnant. Remus freaked out before he could analyze the spell himself, and thankfully didn't see the name of the father who would certainly never know the child. After all, Hogwarts' new Headmaster was Voldemort's right hand man, and one moment of passion would not change that.

As the months passed and her belly grew, Tonks found herself dreaming less of the man who slept at her side and more of the one whose child slept within her.

Then he was born. Theodore Snape – though the birth certificate said Lupin, Tonks knew the boy was a Snape by his coal-black eyes that had opened blearily at birth (if the child weren't a metamorphamagus, she would have been surprised since babies usually had blue eyes) – was a happy child, but he didn't like his "father" as much as he perhaps ought to. Similarly, Remus didn't seem effected by the pheromones the child sent up that were meant to create a euphoric and protective feeling.

The child lost his parents in one fell swoop – his mother and "father" died in battle, his biological father died an unknown death.

Teddy didn't find out who he really was until he was 17.

A letter came from Gringotts. It said he had inherited things from his father that he could now have. So he met with the goblins, and he found out the truth.

He broke down and cried, but no one ever found out the truth. They never knew that he was the heir to the Prince line, that he owned Spinner's End.

They had no idea why his eyes were always black now.

**Author's Note: You will notice that I never once said the word scarlet in the story… it's a symbolic thing. If you've read the scarlet letter, it's like that. An affair leading to a child. Not exactly adultery… but close enough. I decided to take a canon approach to the challenge.**


	10. Summary: Sick Children

Warnings: Um... none? I think...

Disclaimers: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and associates, of whom I am not one. Written for The Magic Bringer's Summary Challenge on HPFC.

Sick Children

"I'm afraid, Mr and Mrs Dursley, that with this kind of illness your nephew's chances are not optimal," said the doctor gravely, and he looked over to where the small boy was playing absently with a pile of blocks. "He mayn't even last out the year."

He wondered if they had heard this before, or if they had expected the news. But no, Doctor Alan Jacoby was the first person the Dursley family had consulted regarding their nephew's condition.

"I see," Vernon Dursley's tone was grave, but there was a gleam in his piggy eyes that the doctor didn't like. Even when he had been taking blood samples two weeks prior, the man – who was of elephantine proportions – had been trying to sell him drills and go golfing and several other things that were very strange of the caretaker of a potentially ill child to be concerned about. Who cared about drills when the poor child was sick?

It wasn't a pleasant disease in any sense of the phrase, and sadly, it wasn't as uncommon as some might think. Sure, Autism was far more common, but one in a thousand still wasn't a good chance. He had just recently diagnosed a very bright little girl named Hermione; only the fact that it wasn't contagious, but rather genetic, kept it out of the spotlight.

Usually, it cropped up around the age of five and very few diagnosed survived past the age of eleven. Harry Potter wasn't the first in his family to be diagnosed; his mother's records showed that she was diagnosed and, at age eleven, put under intensive care. It was amazing that she survived to bear a child to be honest, and she had born the son of another carrier of the illness.

Jacoby had found that the mutation in the child's DNA was especially diverse, more so than ever recorded previous. It was astonishing.

"I would suggest having the boy interred full time at the hospital, in case it advances faster than anticipated and starts shutting down his systems," the doctor continued, trying to shake his morbid thoughts and the suspicion that these Dursley people were looking forward to their nephew's death. "No one else has survived long enough to reproduce that had this disease before, and I'm afraid of what having two carriers as parents will do to the poor boy."

In the corner, Harry continued playing with the blocks, green eyes slightly glazed. His cousin had been kicked out of the room for not letting Harry play and was currently with a nurse in the hospital cafeteria, but Harry still wasn't playing like a normal child.

"We can't afford something like that!" squawked Petunia Dursley, an anorexic-looking woman with a horse-like face. "We have to spend enough of our money on that boy as it is, we can't afford to pay his fees to stay at the hospital as well!"

"The Foundation of the Phoenix has already agreed to pay his fees," Jacoby informed the woman. "They take in most such cases. The papers are all drawn up, if you wish to sign them."

The idea that Harry would be taken off their hands without having to pay for it seemed to be the step the Dursleys needed, and they signed straight away. They were gone like a flash to join their son in the cafeteria, and Doctor Jacoby was left with the sick child who continued to ignore the world around him save for his game with the blacks.

When Harry was taken away by a representative of the Foundation, a tall black man named Kingsley, the blocks stopped floating, and Doctor Jacoby reclined in his chair.

Harry Potter went in and out of hospitals for six more years before receiving his letter to "Hogwarts Medical Center," where he met a bright girl by the name of Hermione Granger and a funny boy by the name of Ronald Weasley. Together they did things that Doctor Jacoby would never understand, because Doctor Jacoby thought they were sick, and sick children didn't go around saving the world.

Shows how much _he_ knew.

**Author's Note: Just a bit of fun :)**


End file.
